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Funny Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Funny

These Funny Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Funny Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry |

She read me Dr Seuss

6:35 A.M.

Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.

I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.

I needed it.

Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.

And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.

Bastards!

Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!

But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.

Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.

“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.

As she held me,
held me,
with puppy love warmth.

Even the rainbows fell to its knees.

She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.

But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.

It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!

As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.

My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.

“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.

Boys will fear her. 
And I couldn’t be more proud.

After two moments of silence, 
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.

“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
shut.”

She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.

10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”

I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.

Mission accomplished.

And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”

But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.

For it was my inner child, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Prose Poetry |

Lucila

So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Prose Poetry |

The Ignoramus: Who Is Not Far From Being A Fool

When everyone goes east, he heads west to him, every dialogue is a contest comes into an interaction as the biggest then leaves agonisingly as the lowest. When he speaks, you know he is half-honest even though he truly knows, but not near the best. He always end up lost in the forest this simple fact, he cannot digest. The moment he shamefully fails the test he begins to manifest then becomes far from being modest and everyone around him, he treats like unwanted guests. Causing a general unrest as he unnecessarily protest. All over his countenance, ignorance crests not accepting defeat, he holds high his egocentric chest. Quick to make jest but correction; he equates to incest and disagreements, he always detest. We all have the quest to know and share the latest so as to add value to ourselves and self-invest which can be a cultivation to future harvest. But knowing it all is impossible and knowing half, believing to know all is ridiculous. Admiting not to know it all is the fairest but this is yet not comprehensible to him, to whom; to know is like a conquest. The wise keep quiet lest, they cause him to become the tempest and with every word, he neutralizes any palatable zest. Oh poor child! change or you'll suffer from everlasting molest where no one wants to visit your nest not because you are unblest but cos of the truth of your infest which now, is obviously clearest. It is good to learn my child and sharing is an attribute of Love. But run away from half baked lines or be humble enough to listen while they become fully whole. You were given two ears and one mouth hence talk less and listen more because an Ignoramus is always not far from becoming a fool!


Details | Prose Poetry |

Who

I stepped out on my lawn tonight
To catch a breath or two
Of cool night air when with a blare
An Owl questioned "Who?".

"Well, it is I", was my reply
"And now, just who are you?"
Then in a short he did report 
Again with that same "Who". 

"You", I said, "Is who", I said
With some authority
"Now who are thee, up in that tree?"
And "Who" again said he. 

"Oh! Now I see, when uttered thee
From high up in that tree
'Who' was thy introduction
And not a question be. 

So, Who is you and I am me. 
I'm glad we talked this out. 
Come again my feathered friend
You're welcome here about."


Details | Prose Poetry |

Camp Anawana (An Ode to 20-somethings’ Nostalgia)

Sometimes I can't believe it
It all happened so fast
Real life is truly here
Just who is that looking at me in the mirror?
How come these bills are addressed to my name?
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And I'm all grown up

Sometimes I miss the days
When your crush had cooties, not STDs
And afternoons were spent climbing trees
And it's hard to grasp our age
Who's that man calling you "his wife"?
How come that little girl just called you Dad?
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And we're all grown up

Sometimes the kids today
Make me feel so old when they say
They've never heard of Kurt Cobain
But I know that we're better
Cause we could fix our Nintendo in just one blow
And we all figured this out sans Twitter
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And I'm all grown up

I remember the stupid things
Pogs and Goosebump books
Playlists were mixtapes on cassettes
And Friday nights meant TGIF on ABC
Nickelodeon was our only obsession
Friend requests were made in person
And they still showed music videos on MTV
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And it's a different world - Nothing's the same
Cause we're all grown up


Details | Prose Poetry |

CHANGED MY Underwear,------- and My Name

I
change my name 
like 
underwear...
fairly often, I suppose

I 
change my clothes 
like 
area codes
and Imma' damn gypsy, ya' see

I 
keep it fresh ta' death
nada
speck of blood
or 
ketchup on my attire

I 
got more rhymes 
than I got grey hairs
and 
that's an effing lot
because i got my share

I 
digg a 
hot-fire piece of passionate verse
those are 
indeed 
rare to find

YET...
if  only poets would 
unleash the fury 
instead of 
holding back
what's really 
on their mind...

I must say...
the library, 
the internet, 
the etc. etc...
would be a less stinky place...
AND, maybe 
I'd keep my name, and sever ties with 
underwear's elastic,
and just go 
APE-Spit Spastic!~


Details | Prose Poetry |

I'm Not Five

I was going to jump on the bed at midnight
While she slept to wish her a happy birthday.
But she looked so asleep and it was so quiet.
I did it anyway because it's funnier to go through with it.
It's not like I'm throwing a nerf ball at her head.
So I get my knees on the bed and hop up-and-down
And "whisper-yell," "happy birthday happy birthday."
And she's not upset, in fact, she's giggling. 
And she whispers to me that she loves me.
I whisper to her that I love her, too.
And I leave the room with the bed
I just jumped and sang on.
And I'm 32.
I mean it's not like I fell off the bed
While jumping and hurt my head.
And made an owie.
I'm not 5.


Details | Prose Poetry |

Peaches

Peaches 

I feel so loved tonight....by you.
Honey,
I sing to you.
And you say how good my voice is.
I tell you funny stories,
That are funny only to me,
You laugh so politely.
That's how I know you love me....


Details | Prose Poetry |

OXYMORON Newsflash:

"EARLY TONIGHT, according to HEAR SAY, things got PRETTY UGLY when a SINGLE GROUP of HELLS
ANGELS became SIMPLY IMPOSSIBLE to control during an ALL OUT MINOR CATASTROPHE at the
MICROSOFT WORKS sponsored MEXI-CALI JUMBO SHRIMP Festival“.


(in a strange way, this type of wishy-washy lingo reminds me of our lovely National news)


Details | Prose Poetry |

An OD Pen

That pen just lies there on the pale white blank pad page__no activity; that sorry pen has O D on something dangerous_passed out_hardly breathing..Come on pen sit up_here sip on this strong coffee..That's it click, look around, life is active, inviting_write it down..Come on now_here eat up of these grits and red-eyed gravy; now that is an eye opener..You've slept through the last rose of summer that was deep burgundy long stemmed on the bush.  You missed that lucious kiss under the pale pink rose  that on the trellis grows.  Winter is coming on, sober up, get busy for you missed the Hummingbird sip nectar from the Wild Petunia then fly away leaving hundreds of Yellow Butterflies to get intoxicated upon its blooms..So you say you are awake now..Here let me kiss you beautiful ink flowing 'pon the page!


I think my pen OD on chocolate though!!!

Sponsor: Joann Grisetti
Contest: Drunken Pen Round 2


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